Harry Potter
by fallthroughtimelikeme
Summary: An insight into Draco's opinions on Harry Potter and what their relationship may have become. Slightly AU near the end but set in their years in Hogwarts.


_**A/N: Songfic based on the song Sara by Ed Sheeran. Basically Draco reminiscing on his times with Harry. Sometimes I think these lyrics would have been better suited to be talking about Draco but here we go. It's a bit messed up, I hope it makes sense.**_

_**Disclaimer: These are JK Rowling's characters. All rights go to her for creating these characters.**_

* * *

"_**Sara, what you do is enlighten my mind  
Oh wow, I said  
Sara, what you do is make my soul unwind**_

I don't know what it was about him. I mean, of course he was famous. I had grown up hearing about him, every single day of my life. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Famous Potter. He defeated the Dark Lord. He was the wizarding world's saviour. But you know Father, he hated him. Hated him with a violent passion. I grew up hearing how he _destroyed_ the Dark Lord. Destroyed the powerful future we had set with the Dark Lord as our leader. Father used to talk about how Harry Potter was a vile child. He talked about how Harry Potter never deserved fame or fortune. He had no power. He wasn't strong. He wasn't even a Pureblood. It was all just luck, a fluke. A disgusting accident.

And so I went to Hogwarts expecting this spoilt, stuck up child who thought he was the next big thing in the world. And then I met him. And Harry? Well, Harry wasn't anything like I expected him to be. Harry was sweet and he was shy and quiet and nervous and seemed to be in awe of pretty much everything. Of course, I didn't know it was him when I first met him. It was only on the train when I confronted him that I realised that the sweet little boy I had met in Madam Malkins's was in fact, the famous Harry Potter. I offered him my friendship then. I liked him, he was nice. He was also interesting. And of course, he was famous. Despite my father's views, I secretly believed he was powerful too. I knew he was going to be great. I just… I wanted to be his friend. Pure and simple.

Unfortunately for me, it didn't occur to me to extend my kindness to the people Harry Potter had already become friends with. It was the Weasley boy. My Father hated the Weasleys as much, if not more, than Harry Potter. Unlike Harry Potter, I had met them before and I had decided already that they were not worth any time at all.

And so Harry Potter turned down my friendship.

This boy intrigued me. Turning down the friendship of a Malfoy was a big thing. It's not often Malfoys even offer alliance never mind friendship. I was hurt, I was offended. But Harry Potter… He was loyal in his friendships already. He surprised me at how quickly he jumped to defend people he had barely known five minutes. His kindness and goodness confused me. His modesty and innocence made me curious. His strength was admirable.

And so Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Boy Who Lived even after the Dark Lord was determined to kill him, opened up my mind to the possibility of my Father being wrong and to the potential for change.

Hey now  
'Cos your hair is blonde, your eyes are blue  
Half the guys I know are after you  
Cheer me up when I'm in a mood  
So I thought I'd write a song for you

And may I say, you look like an angel today  
May I say, take me to the place where your mind lays  
If only to make you smile today  
'Cos you are great, I thought I'd say that

He was beautiful too. There was no denying it. And he's only gotten better looking with age. I was fascinated by his untidiness, his shabby jeans and too big jumper. His mop of black hair, sticking out at random points on top of his head. His striking green eyes covered slightly by the broken, Spellotaped round glasses. His body was thin and wiry. His skin was pale and glowing. He was a strange sight, I remember. It contrasted greatly to my own appearance. I was always neat and tidy, hair slicked back, tie knotted correctly, shoes shining, shirt unwrinkled. Mother made sure of that. He was cute though, I recognised it immediately. Everything from his defiant expressions to the shine in his eyes and his little lips and blush.

And the next year, he began to fill into his body a little more. The Hogwarts feasts helped I suppose. His hair grew another bit, landing in a floppy fringe.

And the next year. He grew about a foot by third year leaving him looking thin again but less skinny, more wiry from the years of Quidditch training.

And fourth year… Well, by fourth year Harry Potter had a lot of admirers. Everyone loved him anyway, that goes without saying but in fourth year, people began to notice him for his looks too. Every girl in the school, as well as half the boys were after him. Typical Harry though, he only had eyes for one person. Unfortunately, it was not me.

I think fifth year was when I began to accept that maybe I thought about him a little too much. I began to notice the dead look in his formerly shining green eyes. I noticed the dark circles and the even messier bed hair. His Adam's apple, more pronounced now, was sometimes the only part of him that moved as he sat in corners staring into space at times. Altogether, Harry Potter was beginning to lose his glow.

And it only got worse. By sixth year, I had my own pressures but I always kept an eye on Harry Potter. However, this time Harry Potter had his eye on me too. I sometimes felt as if we were playing a game of Tag as we danced around each other, trying to avoid each other in the castle. It was one of these nights, trapped in a darkened corner of the castle that I saw Harry Potter as he truly is. Like an angel.

Sara, reminds me of drunken talks in a hammock  
Behind a can of Strongbow  
Oh wow, I said  
Sara, you say that you don't look good when you do  
Even with that soul

After that, we'd sneak away sometimes. Up the stairs to the roof. We'd sit with our legs dangling over the edges, drinking cans of terrible beer and shots of Firewhiskey begged off older students. We'd lie on our backs when we were drunk enough staring up at the midnight blue sky. Tracking the glittering stars with lazy eyes and swaying hands.

Half-hearted kicks to ankles. Low voices and hushed whispers. Deep secrets and old stories. Tales of pain and loss and grief and hurt. Merry laughter about amusing memories and happy times and drunken escapades. Tears over loved ones and hated ones and hardships and worries and stresses. Kisses and hugs and cuddles and sex of comfort and affection and desperate unrelenting need.

He would cry and say he didn't deserve it. He would cry and say I didn't deserve it. I agreed with him on both. But there we were and there was nothing that could change it. Our lives were fate, destiny, a game of chess played by the gods or something equally as pathetic. And we were on opposite sides of the board. I was black and he was white. Darkness and light. Evil and goodness. I didn't want to be black but I was. He never chose to be white but he was. It was just the way things were. Two boys plucked out of thin air and thrown down amongst the story playing out at the time. And we each had our roles to play. Two lost souls in a war? Two little boys in a playground? Two people in a world of confusion and decisions? Life and death. Who knows?

But that's just the way it was.

May I say, you look great  
May I play this to make your day"

So this isn't for Harry. A rambling story with no direction really. A mass of memories. A mess of feelings. But I just want to say Harry, you are great.


End file.
